


There's Magic In A Bard's Song

by Wholesomereader



Category: DreamSMP, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Found Family, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Music, No Beta we die like men in this fuckin household, Power Dynamics, Revolution, Sibling Love, sleepy bois inc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wholesomereader/pseuds/Wholesomereader
Summary: It’s his symphony- Wilbur is the songwriter, the conductor and the musician all at once. It’s an ongoing creation, a project that he’ll try his best to finish for as long as he lives.Wilbur's always liked music. He likes L'manberg's music even more.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 46
Kudos: 159





	There's Magic In A Bard's Song

When Wilbur was old enough to reach the counter without needing a chair, Phil put a guitar in his hands and told him to keep busy. He didn’t mean in a mean way- Phil never did, after all. He just wanted to give Wilbur something to do like he did with Techno and potatoes and sparring. Just something he could connect to and have his own unique thing without Techno accidentally outshining. 

At first, he could barely reach over the top of the guitar. His fingers struggled to reach the chords he wanted and he strained his neck trying to read the sheet music. He’s teaching himself, of course, because there’s nobody around to teach him. All he has is the sheet music in front of him, a small book on how to read said music, and faded diagrams about finger placement. There’s no one there to teach him music theory or why the chords sound the way they do, but in a way, Wilbur understands. He strums and plucks at the strings, humming an imaginary tune in his head. 

As he gets better at it, he notices a few things that change in the house, very quickly. Phil will pause in whatever he’s creating to listen in, and he catches him more than once bobbing his head to the music. Techno is less subtle about it, but being inconspicuous was never his thing. He’ll storm down the hallway to his room, open the door, and sit in front of him to listen to him hum and play the few chords he has committed to memory. Sometimes the cactus plant Phil gave him a long time ago blooms the singular flower it has, and sometimes the weather clears up when he sings. 

He works on his first song, a song about springtime and bullshit gods who have lost their love. He performs it in front of Phil and Techno, both of them having made a temporary stage. Phil beams and wraps him in a tight hug, and Techno claps as loud as he can when he’s done. He watches them go inside their small house in the middle of a random forest. Techno says it’s random at least, and that it shouldn’t exist and that’s what random means, and Phil scoffs and says it’s there and that’s what matters. Wilbur doesn’t care- he likes the forest. 

When he sings in the forest, there’s animals that follow him at a safe distance. When he plays his guitar, plants grow and flourish in a matter of a few chord progressions. 

The wild berries grow and bloom in a matter of a few seconds into his song. Their stems become heavy and the berries drop to the ground, splattering the forest floor with their juice. The trees stretch higher into the sky and the vines start to curl around them. A family of squirrels run past him, and he lets out a small giggle in the middle of his song, his fingers already working from muscle memory. He loves the way that holding a guitar just makes sense in his mind, the way the chord progression comes to his mind without him needing the sheet music. The song is already there, within him, and he just sings it like it’s meant to be there. 

When Wilbur sings and plays his guitar in the forest, it seemingly makes the place safer. He knows how to fight, of course- Techno forced him to learn with him and he can do it fairly well. He just doesn’t like how it forces him to  _ act _ before speaking. He doesn’t want to hurt if he can avoid fighting them entirely. He knows that sometimes, if he sings loud enough, zombies and skeletons turn away. That if he plays the right chords, they’ll turn around and avoid him. If he can, he won’t fight. He  _ hates _ fighting. 

He doesn’t fault his brother for liking it, though. He knows that Techno had to learn the hard way, at first. He knows that it  _ clicks _ with him like how Wilbur holding a guitar just clicks with himself. He’s glad that Phil got him into farming, into something less violent and more focusing. He might be a little sick of always having potatoes for dinner, however. He laughs at the thought to himself- he’ll never get tired of Techo, no matter what. Wilbur loves having him as a brother! He couldn’t ask for anyone better to have, actually. 

One day, when he’s singing and playing in the forest, he hears footsteps. Wilbur has gotten better at the guitar, has learned more songs and made even more. He’s 14 now. He doesn’t give it any more attention other than that, however. But it does bother him when the footsteps follow behind after he’s finished singing, and there’s no tell tale sound of a groan from a zombie or a skeleton’s bones creaking. He stops before he can get any closer to home- but he knows he’s safe, and that he can make a break for it if he has to. 

“Hello?” He calls out, uncertainty lacing his voice. The footsteps stop, and then they turn around and run away. 

He doesn’t think much of it. 

Of course he doesn’t, when the footsteps are always there, now. He grows used to them following him as he plays his guitar. He doesn’t even have to sing, and he quickly learns that trying to talk to them makes them run off quicker. If he’s being honest, he likes the fact that there’s someone other than his brother and his father listening to him. Another person in the forest that appreciates his music that has no familial obligation to. It makes him feel better, at the very least, and it boosts his ego slightly. He  _ knows  _ he’s good at music, after all. It’s his thing! But it’s nice knowing that someone likes it. 

Wilbur doesn’t bring it up to Phil or Techno. Why would he? They’re not dangerous- if they were, Wilbur would have stopped playing in the forest. But one day, when they’re eating dinner together, the thought of them being dangerous crosses his mind for the first time when Techno speaks up. 

“Someone’s stealin’ potatoes,” He says as a way to break the silence. 

Wilbur looks up from his plate and blinks at his older brother, tilting his head. “Really?”

“I… there shouldn’t be anyone else here,” Phil sputters, standing up immediately. “I put barriers around the forest so that no one can even get in, how-” 

Wilbur ducks his head. “Might be my fault,” he mumbles, but neither Phil nor Techno hear it as they create plans to catch the thief later that night. He wishes he could help, but what they start to talk about fails to make sense in his head as he finishes eating. He cleans up the dishes that his family has left behind and goes back up to his room. 

Getting woken up in the middle of the night to Techno shouting and a child screaming makes him bolt out of bed and grabbing his sword, flying out the house before he can think about it. He takes in the scene before him, his brain finally catching up to him as he fully wakes up. 

Techno has a  _ child _ in his trap, the rope tightening around his ankle hard enough to bruise. He knows that Phil is out by the barrier, checking and resealing any holes that might be there. He also recognizes the glint in his brother’s eyes as he shouts back at the child, and when he glances at the child himself, he sees nothing but pure fear as he fights back tears and screams right back at his brother. It takes Wilbur mere moments to step between them, and he sees Techno back down instantly, a calm washing over them instantly. 

“Go get Dad,” He says softly, trying to keep his own body language loose and relaxed. “I’ll take care of him.”

Wilbur watches his brother lean over, glancing at the kid and then back to him. “You sure?” He asks, and the rest of the question hangs in the air. He watches him, watches as his anger slowly dissipates into the nighttime air. There’s the sound of a gentle breeze washing over them as Techno just grunts and moves past him- and Wilbur grins to himself, turning around slowly.

The kid is still there, clawing at the rope with weak fingers as he tries to get away. Wilbur kneels down in front of him, and the kid seemingly takes the time to notice him as he fruitlessly tries to jerk away from him. 

“Hey-” Wilbur starts. 

“Get the fuck away, bitch,” The kid all but screams, and Wilbur winces- he knows that’s not good for the throat. “I just wanted some fucking food and you trap me like I’m so kind of animal?!” 

“Listen,” he tries again, only for the kid to start shouting again, his voice getting more and more coarse with each passing word. When he tries to reach out to him, to grab at the ankle that’s ensnared by the rope, the kid all but starts to jerk and scream even more, kicking Wilbur more than once. 

He really does try, but as he sits there, with the kid glaring back at him while he tries, once again, to jerk at the rope, Wilbur can’t think of any solution. But, then he thinks about his time in the forest, to his time watching the plants grow and the animals gather. He thinks about the footsteps he’s tried talking to, only for them to run away. He thinks about how they’re not dangerous, and how they’ve followed him for the past week or so. 

So, he starts humming. 

The kid stops, eyes wide as he hums. There’s no lyrics to this song- it’s just a lullaby that Techno used to use on him when they were little and still too scared of Phil to go to him at night. Wilbur is surprised he still remembers it, but the more he hums the tune, the more he resists the urge to smile fondly at the memories that come with it. But he keeps a close eye on the kid in front of him, slowly taking in his features. 

His hair  _ would _ be blond if it wasn’t covered in dirt, a twig sticking out of it. It curls around his ears, clearly not having been cut in a long time. His eyes are wide and a  _ brilliant _ blue that almost glows in the dull torchlight that surrounds their tiny house. His skin is pale and littered with bruises and scratches, and for a moment it makes him stumble in his humming. The kid can’t be older than he is, can’t be old enough for him to be running around in a forest by himself. His clothes are nothing more than rags hanging on by threads, and there aren’t any shoes on his feet. He can see how the forest floor hasn’t been kind to him. 

He watches as the fight slowly,  _ slowly _ leaves the child’s body. He watches as their eyes droop and their head bobs until they finally,  _ finally _ lay on the ground and fall asleep. They curl up into a small ball, impossibly small. Wilbur breathes out a sigh of relief, taking his sword and gently cutting away at the rope around his ankle. He winces at the line of red that wraps around it, his fingers gently brushing over it. It makes the kid whimper and try to curl on themselves even more. His heart leaps in his throat. He gently,  _ as gently _ as possible, holds the young boy in his arms, planning on getting him inside, at least. Then, he looks up, seeing Phil and Techno flying- well, Phil is the one with wings, and Techno is the one dangling from his grip. It makes him smile briefly until both of them land in front of him. 

Phil stares at the sight of Wilbur holding a sleeping child in his arms. He’s small- even for a kid. Wilbur feels the kid shift in his arms, feels him nuzzle into his warmth. 

“He  _ was _ screamin’,” Techno breaks the silence, moving forward. He takes the kid, mostly because Wilbur can’t carry him inside. “At least it’s quiet now.” 

Wilbur nods in silent agreement. The fact that it’s late at night only just now hits him, and he sighs, standing up. “I’m fucking exhausted.” 

“Me too,” Phil sighs. “But… he probably needs some healing potions…” 

“He’s so tiny,” Wilbur mutters, mostly to himself, but Phil nods in agreement. Both of them walk back to the house, Techno waiting by the doorway. Wilbur opens it and the three of them (four, if he counts the kid) and stand idly around, waiting. 

“We’ll put him in the spare room downstairs for now,” Phil finally announces. Wilbur nods, moving to open the door. It’s the spare that they use for Phil’s friends that stop by occasionally. There’s a small window that can’t be opened, due to a storm that nearly blew out their windows one summer, and the door can be locked. It’s the bare bones of a bedroom, too. There’s a bed pushed up against the wall, and a small chest of drawers that sits empty, collecting dust. 

Phil sends both of them back to bed once Techno lays the kid down, but Wilbur wakes up in the night one time, listening to someone trying to pick a lock on a door that’s magically sealed. He sighs, getting up and grabbing his warmest blanket. He practically stomps down the stairs, and he distantly hears the kid run back to the bed and pretend to be asleep. He settles his hand over the doorknob, letting the magic unlock the door as he turns it. He peeks into the room, making a big show of making it seem like he didn’t just hear the little shit trying to break out already. 

He slowly walks in, leaving the door open but blocking the entrance as he drapes the blanket over the (fake) sleeping boy. He watches as the kids face tenses up when he gets close, his breath catching in his throat as Wilbur tucks him in. He takes care not to actually touch him, just making sure that the blanket won’t fall if he tosses and turns. Then, with loud foot steps, he walks back to the door, pauses in the doorway as he sees Phil quietly creep down and give him a soft, yet tired smile before closing it. He hears the lock turn with a click. 

“Did he wake up?” Phil asks, and Wilbur nods, gesturing towards the kitchen. Phil follows him and he sits down, sighing. “How’d he look?”

“I didn’t get a good look,” Wilbur admits. “I let him believe that I didn’t know he was awake. He’s going to try the door again-” 

“The window is sealed too, don’t worry,” Phil says, answering the question that Wilbur doesn’t ask. He smiles. “You gave him your blanket?” 

He shrugs. “It seemed like the nice thing to do?” 

Phil nods in agreement. “It is, Wil. It really is.” 

Wilbur discovers there’s magic in his singing when the kid wakes up and he convinces him to stay. 

The poor kid- Tommy, a village runt who had decided that a forest looked more like home than two “assholes that didn’t even look like him”- really was just hungry. He explained how Wilbur had unknowingly lead him to their small house, and how he didn’t think anyone would notice just a few potatoes going missing every now and then. It was just unfortunate that Techno was the one who caught him. 

At first, he doesn’t know what to do with the new addition to the family, but Wilbur grows fond anyways. Tommy is too impatient to learn how to read sheet music, but he’ll tap out a beat to Wilbur’s strumming and humming. He’s too impulsive for Techno to teach him how to spar correctly, but there’s always a smile on his face, even when his oldest brother has him pinned in the mud again. He’s too high energy for Phil, but luckily for Phil, he has two other sons who wear him out enough for him to concentrate on basic studies. 

  
  
  


As the years pass, Wilbur sees the way Techno grows antsy. He watches as even his own humming doesn’t calm him down anymore, not as much as it used to. Techno starts to disappear for days on end- coming back bloodied and damaged. He doesn’t talk to Wilbur or Tommy about it, but Phil wrestles him into his room with healing potions and a caring hand whenever he comes home like that. 

When Techno is gone for a week, Wilbur wakes up on the seventh day with a pit of dread in his stomach and a sad tune between his ears. 

Tommy opens his door, and he thinks back to when he first found the boy- barely 10 at the time. Now, he’s 12 and Wilbur is 16 and Techno was-  _ is, is, he can’t be dead _ \- 19. His birthday is soon, Wilbur knows- he knows in the same way he knows that his oldest brother isn’t dead, but knows that he’s gone for good now. 

Without a word, Wilbur nods at him and Tommy walks in. He starts humming a tune, one that comes easily to him. Tommy lays down next to him in his bed, and he stays there, with him, until they both fall back asleep. 

Phil is the one to break the news- Techno  _ had _ come home last night, covered in blood but not hurt. He tells the story with a small swell of pride in his voice, but Wilbur can tell he’s just as sad to see his eldest go like this. To see him go off with bloodlust running in his veins and ill-equipped for a war like no other. But he still tells them with pride as they poke at the dinner in front of them. 

“At least we won’t always be eating potatoes,” Tommy attempts, and it makes all three of laugh a bit. 

They spend the rest of the week reminiscing about Techno, and Wilbur takes up the job of keeping up the farm. He bullies Tommy into it as well, and more often than not the two spend their days in the small field bickering. But it comes routine in Techno’s absence. 

For his birthday, Wilbur writes him a song, gives it to Phil, and tells him to give it to his brother. A week later, he gets a rusted golden sword and a haphazardly written note calling him a “fuckin’ nerd” but Wilbur keeps both of them close to him as time passes by. Phil will occasionally hand him more notes, and hand Tommy dumb keepsakes that he breaks more often than not. But Techno is still with them- just not in the way he was before. 

Phil doesn’t let them leave like that. 

It’s Wilbur’s idea, when he’s 17 and his own birthday is soon, and he knows that Tommy is  _ trying  _ to learn how to bake a cake just for him. But there’s a song that he can constantly hear now, just beyond the forest he’s called his home for years now, and it  _ calls to him _ . It begs him to come, begs him to leave and  _ create create create! _ It asks him to travel and sing, to write ballads of the world and its tragedies. He wants to write the song itself down- he can’t explain it. He doesn’t  _ want _ to explain to Phil how he wants to leave. He knows it would break his heart. He knows he  _ can’t _ leave Tommy behind. 

Somehow, his father knows. He teaches him how to tell what food is edible and what isn’t, how to hunt and fish and scavenge. He teaches him about the magic of every world, the legends that have been carried through for generations upon generations. Phil teaches Wilbur how to survive, so that when the time comes, when he’s ready, he won’t be alone- he’ll have Phil’s knowledge and, with a better written note than any of the others he’s gotten, Techno’s blessing. It makes his heart swell with love whenever he thinks about it- Wilbur will always have a home to come back to. 

But there’s still Tommy- still too wild to go out into the world, still too young to have a proper calling. 

It’s no surprise that when he catches Wilbur packing his bags, he throws a fit. He shouts and screams, and not even Phil can get him to leave his room. He refuses to leave it, and Wilbur’s heart shatters when he finishes packing. 

“You’re ready to go when you want,” Phil says softly, holding out a package. “Happy 18th birthday, Wilbur. You can always come back,” 

Wilbur takes the package, and looks back up at his father. He’s gotten older, he knows that, but to him, it’s like looking at him like when he was 6 and Techno was 9, and they were both just scared kids trying to find shelter in a storm. He grips the package. 

“I have to take Tommy,” He had planned on saying goodbye, but when those words leave his mouth he finds himself nodding. It’s the truth- he won’t leave him. He  _ can’t _ . 

So Wilbur sits outside of Tommy’s door, his guitar in his lap as he plays a song. It’s Tommy’s song, but he knows that his little brother won’t see it that way. But he sings it anyways, and when the door opens, he looks up to see him crying. 

“Please-” Tommy starts before Wilbur is up and hugging him tightly. Tommy grips the back of his shirt tightly as they hug. It doesn’t take much for him to convince the younger to come with him, and they spend another two days packing up anything that they could need. 

Phil let’s both of them go. 

“You’ll always have a home here,” he says to both of them in a tight hug. 

So they travel. 

For his 14th birthday, Wilbur takes Tommy to the nether, only to drag him back out with his clothes singed and Tommy’s loud laughter ringing in his ears. 

For his 19th, Tommy gives him a diamond sword. It’s the same sword that he uses to save Tommy when he finds him trapped in a pit with a spider spawner underneath him. 

A week later is when they find another person, the same age as Tommy (maybe younger, maybe older) screaming about how much they hate being a girl. It was Wilbur who calmed them down a song, and discovered that while they hated themselves, they hated their mother even more, and Tommy instantly offered for them to join up with their duo. The two share a glance and Wilbur watches both of them coming to a silent understanding.

When Wilbur shoots his little brother a quiet glare over the campfire that night, sending off a letter to his dad to ask for a series of specific potions (and how to make them), Tommy snorts. 

“You were fuckin’ going to offer anyways.” He turns in his bedroll, facing him. “Don’t act like you weren’t!”

“Maybe I was,” is all Wilbur replies with, and he shoots a glance at their newest addition. They’re sleeping curled up in a ball on their own bedroll, as if trying to make themselves smaller than they actually are. It makes him sad, makes him pull out his blanket and gently place it over their sleeping body. He hears Tommy mutter something about him being a  _ softie shit _ , but doesn’t protest when he does the same to him. 

They fit in, but there’s something that keeps holding them back- and Wilbur, genuinely, can see the pain in their eyes and the difference in their song when others use the wrong name, the wrong pronouns and assume the worst. He steps in, more often than not, to correct the strangers. He has to stop Tommy from fighting a couple of times, too. He knows it’s not much- but he can see how grateful they are at the end of the day. 

The potions come a month after, with a warning from Phil that it  _ will _ make some of their attributes more animal-like than human, but when Wilbur tries to give the same warning, the kid takes the potion mid sentence and downs the entire thing in one go. 

Tommy calls him a furry for a full week afterwards, but Wilbur’s heart only swells with pride as he grows used to the new ears with a fluffy orange tail. 

“It’s nice to properly meet you, Fundy,” Wilbur says with a smile on his face, one so wide it almost hurts. 

Fundy laughs and twirls. “It’s nice to finally feel like  _ me _ !” 

Tubbo comes to them the same way Tommy does- Wilbur notices footsteps that follow behind them. 

Tommy is the one who notices small parts of their supplies going missing. Him and Fundy grumble and complain when they have less food to eat, but Wilbur keeps an eye out when they hunt. 

He doesn’t want to scare them off- this is  _ exactly _ how they found Tommy, afterall, and he’s not entirely sure how to approach them without setting a trap. 

In the end, he doesn’t need to. It’s Tommy who chases the smaller teen down, tackling them to the forest floor. Wilbur is prepared to pull Tommy off when he finds the two, but it’s Tommy who helps pull up the teen, and that’s how he learns that Tubbo is a lot like Tommy, but different in the way that his song isn’t sad or lonely or angry- just confused, and hurt slightly. Tommy doesn’t even ask, and Wilbur doesn’t complain when Tubbo sleeps around their campfire that night. 

Tommy and Tubbo fit together like two peas in a pod, and between those two, and Fundy, it’s no surprise that he ends up settling down sooner than later. 

The song still calls to him, but it tells him that he’s doing the right thing.

They build a house, a shitty ‘van’ and meet more people- a man who’s eyes glow without sunglasses on, and a girl with a passion for baking. They meet a team of men who think they shouldn’t be here. 

Wilbur doesn’t mean to start a war when he built walls around their area to create a sense of  _ safety _ . But the song is singing praises to him, telling him to  _ keep creating keep creating keep creating _ and he does- he creates a nation out of a ragtag group of people just trying to find their way in the world. He creates a family out of Tubbo, Tommy, Eret, Niki and Fundy. He creates a small nation for his friends, his extended family to be safe in. It’s for  _ them _ . But it is, ultimately, Wilbur’s creation. It is  _ his _ in the way that the farm back at Phil’s is still Techno’s, but made for them to eat from. 

He doesn’t get as many notes, but he knows that Phil has started newer, bigger projects. He knows that Techno has stopped fighting in a war, sated his bloodlust for a bit, and is now ‘beating up some nerd at their pathetic attempt at a potato farm’. He misses them, but he knows if he calls to them, he’ll see Phil flying down in less than a day and Techno within the week. 

He names Tommy vice president, and maybe that’s a mistake- he’s still too young, 15 is too young for someone so angry and impulsive. But he couldn’t be anymore proud of him than when he stands his ground against a man with two best friends and a stupid mask. 

It breaks when he sees Tommy fall into the small pond, with blood pooling around him. 

He  _ was _ planning on surrendering when Tommy bursts back into L’manberg with a grin on his face and a paper in his hands, shouting. They celebrate that night, and Tommy doesn’t tell him how he’s gotten them independence, but he’s proud of him. He knows that Tommy knows that already, so he let’s the boy slink away with Tubbo in the middle of the night to talk. They need each other more than anything, he thinks. He won’t be the one to tear them apart.

He’s not sure when he realizes that L’manberg is the song that’s been calling for him to create, but when he does it just makes him happier. He’s found it- no, he’s  _ created _ his calling. He’s created it, and it’s  _ here _ , singing its praises to him about how well he’s doing and how he’s done such a great job creating L’manberg. Its happy now. He can tell in the year of peace that they have when it swells with music every time someone or something new happens. It doesn’t disappear and it doesn’t go quiet. It’s common to find him humming the tune to it. It’s the Anthem of L’manberg, after all.

It’s his symphony- Wilbur is the songwriter, the conductor and the musician all at once. It’s an ongoing creation, a project that he’ll try his best to finish for as long as he lives. 

Maybe that’s why it physically hurts him when Tommy calls for an election. And Fundy is taking his calling now too- he pushes away Wilbur, convinces Niki that they could be great together, and form their party to run against him with. He doesn’t harbor any bad feelings towards either of them for it. After all, he knows that sometimes you just have to  _ do _ something to find out what you need to. 

Dream doesn’t run, but George does, Vice President to someone named Quackity that Tommy quickly introduced him to. They’re the biggest threat, but even then, Wilbur can tell from the way L’manberg strikes the chords that it won’t let him leave. That’s fine with him, because he won’t leave it behind, not yet. 

Then there’s Schlatt. 

Wilbur doesn’t know what he thinks of Schlatt- his song is scratchy and jumps from smooth to harsh in a second, playing dissonant chords and mismatched melodies. He’s the only one that makes him nervous, and his own song sings  _ violently _ against the idea of Schlatt being in charge of it. 

It hurts when Schlatt makes his own people chase him from  _ his _ country. 

L’manberg, his symphony, moves into a different piece from a concerto into an overture of grief and anger. 

Wilbur is angry. It’s all he feels anymore, lately- it’s just him and Tommy. Eret tries to help, but he yells scathing remarks about him that makes the man shift away from helping. He doesn’t trust Tubbo, how can he trust  _ anyone _ ?

It’s no surprise that Tommy brings Technoblade in, and from there, the tone shifts in the music. He can hear L’manberg, still, but it’s quieter now. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s  _ scared _ , and so is he. But he replaces his fear with anger, and the longer Schlatt is in power, the angrier he gets. 

He ignores the fact that L’manberg cries and sobs and  _ fights _ when the walls are cut down. He ignores the way it begs for him to come back when the flag changes. He ignores it all, now- he can’t focus on it. 

Focus is a rare thing he gets these days, and he realizes that his call has shifted. He’s created- and where has it gotten him? Stuck in a literal hole in a ground with his two brothers.  _ Everything _ that’s called to him when he was younger, the very thing that uprooted him from his home with his dad, has sent him to a figurative grave. 

Well, he can create one last thing. 

So he does. He creates chaos- Techno helps, only pausing in his focus to do a small and quick celebration for his 20th birthday. Wilbur has to apologize for not doing anything for his older brother’s birthday, but Techno waves it off and tells him that creating chaos now will be his gift to him. 

So Wilbur grins, gains the help of a man he called an enemy, and tries to convince Tommy. Even though he knows that Tommy’s song isn’t with L’manberg- it was, when he was creating it, but L’manberg is  _ not _ Tommy’s. It’s Wilbur’s. It will  _ always _ be Wilbur’s L’manberg. He knows that it’s his song, his greatest masterpiece- but it’s not finished. Not yet. 

When Schlatt calls for a festival, all Wilbur can really do is plan with anticipation. He knows that Tommy is against it before he confronts him, can hear his song violently clash with his own. He’s proud of him though, for standing up to him. Tommy is strong- that’s all he truly gained from fighting in a war so young. But Dream helps him set up the tnt, helps him dig underneath L’manberg to gut it out and replace it with explosives instead of soil and rocks. He knows that Tommy hates him for it- but he doesn’t care. It’s not about Tommy anymore. 

Schlatt one ups him, and with Quackity on their side now, Wilbur is fairly positive he knows what he’s going to do. When he meets Schlatt’s eyes, he knows that the man can tell he’s winning. It makes L’manberg cry out to him, begging for release, and Wilbur knows. He knows- he doesn’t want this anymore, he doesn’t want to hurt L’manberg than it already is. 

So with the festival over with, with Quackity and everyone saying they support Pogtopia, with Dream seemingly switching sides- Wilbur writes a note to Phil. He confesses to the music he’s always heard, describes how proud he is of Tommy and how much Techno has grown. ( _ He’s embraced the pigs part of him now, and really honed in on farming. Tommy is less impulsive now, and he’s grown up so much. )  _ He leaves out the part where he knows that Phil won’t come yet- he can tell from the way the note flutters in his hands before a gust of wind picks it up. He knows his dad is busy, knows that his dad would probably be disappointed in the way he’s pushed everyone away for his own stupid, selfish reasons. 

But L’manberg still cries. 

Tommy’s birthday comes with as much fanfare as Wilbur’s, but to be fair, Wilbur doesn’t pay much attention to it- other than a brief smile and a small package shoved into his hands as he leaves. He’s sixteen now, and he knows that his own is right around the corner. But he doesn’t think about that, his mind exploding with the different melodies and harmonies in his head. 

The loudest one is L’manberg, of course. 

“What are you planning, Wilbur?” Tommy corners him later that night, the bright red and brand new handkerchief tied around his neck. Wilbur grins at the sight of it. 

“Nothing yet,” He replies easily. 

He knows that Tommy trusts him too much. But he gives him a small smile and leaves to turn in for the night. Dream had given them a deadline, told them about an apparent deal with Schlatt, and they still had to prepare. 

Wilbur has to prepare.

When Schlatt collapses on the ground, his body spasming and muttering incomprehensible shit, L’manberg’s song shifts to one of victory and glory. 

Tubbo is the one who ends up president. Wilbur stays and listens to the music of L’manberg- it still not Tubbo’s, it’s still not  _ Tommy’s or Dreams or Schlatt’s _ country. It’s his. He’ll make sure it stays his. But he listens with half an ear to Tubbo’s speech, listens as Tubbo renounces Schlatt and makes L’manberg a little bit happier. 

When he gets to the button room, he stares at it. He knows that there might not be any tnt behind it- he knows that there might not even be anything connected to it. But he’s come close to it how many times? How close has he been to finishing L’manberg’s symphony only for the opportunity to be ripped out of his hands? L’manberg’s song was  _ his calling _ . It was his! He created it! Yes, he created it for Fundy and Tommy and Tubbo and everyone else, but it was  _ still his _ . 

But that’s the thing- it  _ was _ . Now it isn’t. It’s not Wilbur’s anymore. 

“Wilbur?” Phil calls softly down the hallway, jumping him out of his thoughts. Distantly, he can hear Techno’s stupid rocket launcher go off, and the sound of metal against metal. They’re fighting again. There wasn’t ever going to be peace. 

“Hey Phil,” he says softly, turning to face him. 

“What are you doing?” Phil’s voice is laced with worry and concern, and his song is soothing to Wilbur’s ears. After months of listening to nothing but grief and anger and  _ pain _ from L’manberg, hearing Phil’s gentle harmony calms him down, ever so slightly. It just solidifies his resolve even more. 

“There might be a lot of tnt connected to this,” He replies. “There might not be.” 

“Mhm,” Phil steps into the room, and Wilbur blocks off the tunnel. Nobody needs to be here, other than him and his dad. “You’re really willing to risk it?” 

“I mean- yeah? L’manberg isn’t what I originally built it for, not anymore,” Wilbur mutters, running a hand through his hair. “The very idea, Phil? Fucking destroyed.”

“You can always come home,” Phil grabs his arm, and Wilbur jerks it out of his grasp, taking a step closer to the button. 

That’s the sad part, isn’t it? Wilbur could go home, right now. He could. Yet, he knows he won’t. 

“Come home, son,” Phil’s voice is soft, and his music is so soothing. It’s healing him, Wilbur realizes, without Phil even knowing. He wants to laugh. “I shouldn’t have let you go so soon-”

“It’s not your fault, Dad.” Wilbur interrupts, a small grin on his face. “It’s just that L’manberg was never meant to be.” 

He pushes the button. 

There’s screams. There’s explosions. The room opens to the face L’manberg, broken and destroyed. The withers go off, and he watches. Watches as everyone fights against them, as even the Dream Team and proclaimed neutral parties jump in to fight. He had almost forgotten about those, and somehow, it’s even more poetic as ash begins to rain down from the sky. He watches as Tubbo and Tommy fight back to back- and Wilbur thinks back to the dirty little boy he had to soothe with a lullabye. He watches Technoblade fly through the air, and thinks about how his older brother had come almost instantly to help him. He watches as they all fight to preserve L’manberg. 

He listens as the melody it sings dies off, the harmony going off key and outright creating dissonance. It cries to him, calling him  _ traitor traitor traitor _ as the final notes stop. 

For the first time in a while, it’s quiet. 

He turns to Phil, who had been stunned into silence. 

He grabs Phil’s hand gently, pushing a diamond blade into his hands. It’s the same one Tommy had given him so long ago, the enchantments shining against the cool blue of the diamond. Phil looks up at him confused. 

“It’ll never be finished,” He says. 

“Wilbur-” Phil tries, but he just grins, stepping closer to him, dangerously closer to the edge as well. 

“If I can’t fucking have this, then nobody will, Phil!” He laughs. 

Then, the silence becomes deafening. A spike of fear and anger drive its way through him and he clenches his fist. He starts to shake, wants to cry and scream and laugh all at the same time. It’s unfinished! It will never be finished. No one will get to finish what he started. The sudden onslaught of noise from the withers and the fire in the distance are suddenly amplified in his ears as he struggles to focus. He steps around the small pieces of rubble, trying to muffle the noise as much as he can. It’s too much and not enough- he  _ misses  _ the song-

“Come home,” Phil says, his grip on his sword tightening. 

“Kill me,” he gasps, stepping forward. He had a feeling it would be bad- he didn’t think about how bad. It’s overwhelming, it fills his head and drowns out any thoughts, there’s no rhythm to it that he can follow- “Kill me, right now-”

“ _ You’re my son! _ ” Phil shouts, but that just makes Wilbur laugh as sobs wrack his body. 

He makes brief eye contact with Tommy, who’s barely holding up Tubbo next to him. For a brief moment, Wilbur hears a song there- one that calls to him, trying to grab at him and force him to step down. 

“They all want me dead! Finish it, Phil, do it! It’s gone, there’s no more music and all my work is gone and dead! Do it,” He’s begging at this point, cutting off the music from Tommy before it can get any worse. Phil’s own melody threatens to overwhelm him. But he pushes it off as he takes a step closer. 

“I want to go home,” He says softly through his tears. 

Hurt flashes through Phil’s eyes as he raises his sword. Wilbur grins, relief flooding through him as the point- kept ever so sharpened just for this occasion- drives through his chest. He hears Tommy scream his name. He hears Phil toss the sword to the ground as he drives it out of his chest- it doesn’t hurt. Or maybe it does, and he just doesn’t care anymore. 

He falls. There’s a gentle melody playing, and he hums it to himself before recognizing it. It’s the lullabye. It gives him a brief moment of peace as he closes his eyes. 

There’s magic in a bards song.

Even an unfinished one.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The Adventure Zone: Balance! 
> 
> If I made you cry from this, congratulations, you're legally obligated to tell me in the comments!


End file.
